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The Emigrants Of Ahadarra, a novel by William Carleton |
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Chapter 14. Mysterious Letter |
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_ CHAPTER XIV. Mysterious Letter --Hycy Disclaims Sobriety--Ahadarra's in for it.
"Well, Nanny," he inquired, "where are you bound for, now?" "To the post-office with a letter from Masther Hycy, sir. I wanted him to tell me who it was for, but he would not. Will you, Mr. Clinton?" and she held out the letter to him as she spoke. Clinton felt a good deal surprised to see that it was addressed to his uncle, and also written in a hand which he did not recognize to be that of Hycy Burke. "Are you sure, Nanny," he asked, "that this letter was written by Mr. Hycy?" "Didn't I see him, sir?" she replied; "he wrote it before my eyes a minute before he handed it to me. Who is it for, Mr. Clinton?" "Why are you so very anxious to know, Nanny?" he inquired. "Sorra thing," she replied, "but curiosity--a woman's curiosity, you know." "Well, Nanny, you know, or ought to know, that it would not be right in me to tell you who the letter is for, when Mr. Hycy did not think proper to do so." "True enough, sir," she replied; "an I beg your pardon, Mr. Clinton, for asking you; indeed it was wrong in me to tell you who it came from even, bekaise Mr. Hycy told me not to let any one see it, only jist to slip it into the post-office unknownst, as I passed it; an' that was what made me wish to know who it was goin' to, since the thruth must be tould." Clinton in turn now felt his curiosity stimulated as to the contents of this mysterious epistle, and he resolved to watch, if possible, what effect the perusal of it might have on his uncle, otherwise he was never likely to hear a syllable that was contained in it, that worthy relative being, from official necessity, a most uncommunicative person in all his proceedings. "I wonder," observed Clinton, "that Mr. Hycy would send to any one a letter so slurred and blotted with ink as that is." "Ay, but he blotted it purposely himself," replied Nanny, "and that too surprised me, and made me wish to know what he could mane by it." "Perhaps it's a love-letter, Nanny," said Clinton, laughing. "I would like to know who it is to, at any rate," said the girl; "but since you won't, tell me, sir, I must try and not lose my rest about it. Good-bye, Mr. Clinton." "Good-bye, Nanny;" and so they started. Young Clinton, who, though thoughtless and fond of pleasure, was not without many excellent points of character, began now to perceive, by every day's successive intimacy, the full extent of Hycy Burke's profligacy of morals, and utter want of all honorable principle. Notwithstanding this knowledge, however, he felt it extremely difficult, nay, almost impossible, to separate himself from Hycy, who was an extremely pleasant young fellow, and a very agreeable companion when he pleased. He had in fact gained that personal ascendancy over him, or that licentious influence which too many of his stamp are notorious for exercising over better men than themselves; and he found that he could not readily throw Hyoy off, without being considerably a loser by the act. "I shall have nothing to do with his profligacy," said he, "or his want of principle, and I shall let him know, at all events, that I will not abide by the agreement or compromise entered into between us some time since at his father's. He shall not injure an honest man for me, nor shall I promise him even neutrality with respect to his proposal for my sister, whom I would rather see dead a hundred times than the wife of such a fellow." The next morning, about half an hour before breakfast, he told his uncle that he was stepping into town and would bring him any letters that might be for him in the post-office. He accordingly did so, and received two letters, one Hycy's and the other with the crest and frank of the sitting member for the county, who was no other than young Chevydale. His uncle was at breakfast when he handed them to him, and we need hardly say that the M.P. was honored by instant attention. The Still-hound read it over very complacently. "Very well," he exclaimed; "very well, indeed, so far. Harry, we must be on the alert, now the elections are approaching, and Chevydale will be stoutly opposed, it seems. We must work for him, and secure as many votes as we can. It is our interest to do so, Harry,--and he will make it our interest besides." "Has principle nothing to do with it, sir?" "Principle! begad, sir," retorted the uncle, "there's no such thing as principle--lay that down as a fact--there's no such thing in this world as principle." "Well, but consistency, uncle. For instance, you know you always vote on the Tory side, and Chevydale is a Liberal and an Emancipator." "Consistency is all d--d stuff, Harry, as principle. What does it mean? why that if a man's once wrong he's always to be wrong--that is just the amount of it. There's Chevydale, for instance, he has a brother who is a rank Tory and a Commissioner of Excise, mark that; Chevydale and he play into each other's hands, and Chevydale some of these days will sell the Liberals, that is, if he can get good value for them. If I now vote on the Tory side against Chevydale, his brother, the Tory Commissioner, will be my enemy in spite of all his Toryism; but if I vote and exert myself for Chevydale, the Liberal, I make his Tory of a brother my friend for life. And now, talk to me about principle, or consistency either." His nephew could not but admit, that the instances adduced by his uncle were admirably calculated to illustrate his argument, and he accordingly pursued the subject no further. "Ay!" exclaimed the Still-hound, "what d--d scrawl have we got here? Ay, ay, why this is better than I expected." "What is better, uncle?" said the nephew, venturing an experiment. "Why," replied the sagacious old rascal, "for you to mind your business, if you have any, and to let me mind mine, without making impertinent inquiries, Master Harry." With these words he went and. locked up both letters in his desk. As we, however, possess the power of unlocking his desk, and reading the letter to boot, we now take the liberty of laying it in all its graphic beauty and elegance before our readers-- "To MISTHER KLINTON, SIR: "Af you go this nite bout seven clocks or thereaway, you'd find a Still-Hed an' Worm At full work, in they tipper End iv The brown Glen in Ahadarra. Sir, thrum wan iv Die amstrung's Orringemen an' a fren to the axshize." The gauger after breakfast again resumed the conversation as follows:-- "Have you changed your mind, Harry, regarding the Excise? because if you have I think I may soon have an opportunity of getting you a berth." "No, sir, I feel an insurmountable repugnance to the life of a Still--hem." "Go on, man, to the life of a Still-hunter. Very well. Your father's death last year left you and your sister there dependent upon me, for the present at least; for what could a medical man only rising into practice, with a, family to support and educate, leave behind him?" "Unfortunately, sir, it is too true." "In the mean time you may leave 'unfortunate' out, and thank God that you had the shelter of my roof to come to; and be on your knees, too, that I was a bachelor. Well, I am glad myself that I had and have a home for you; but still, Harry, you ought to think of doing something for yourself; for I may not live always, you know, and beside I am not rich. You don't relish surgery, you say?" "I can't endure it, uncle." "But you like farming?" "Above every other mode of life." "Very well, I think it's likely I shall have a good farm to put you into before long." "Thank you, uncle. You may rest assured that both Maria and myself are fully sensible of the kindness we have experienced at your hands." "Small thanks to me for that. Who the devil would I assist, if not my brother's orphans? It is true, I despise the world, but still we must make our use of it. I know it consists of only knaves and fools. Now, I respect the knaves; for if it were'nt for their roguery, the world would never work; it would stand still and be useless. The fools I despise, not so much because they are fools, as because they would be knaves if they could; so that, you see I return again to my favorite principle of honesty. I am going to Ballymacan on business, so good-bye to you both." "Uncle," said his nephew, "one word with you before you go." "What is it?" "Would you suffer me to offer you a word of advice, and will you excuse me for taking such a liberty with a man of your experience?" "Certainly, Harry, and shall always feel thankful to any one that gives me good advice." "If this is not good advice, it is at least well intended." "Let us hear it first, and then we shall judge better." "You say you will procure me a farm. Now, uncle, there is one thing I should wish in connection with that transaction, which is, that you would have no underhand--hem!--no private understanding of any kind with Mr. Hycy Burke." "Me a private understanding with Hycy Burke! What in the devil's name has put such a crotchet as that into your head?" "I only speak as I do, because I believe you have received a private communication from him." "Have I, faith! If so I am obliged to you--but I am simply ignorant of the fact you mention; for, with my own knowledge', I never received a line from him in my life." "Then I must be wrong," replied Harry; "that is all." "Wrong! Certainly you are wrong. Hycy Burke, I am told, is a compound of great knave and gross fool, the knavery rather prevailing. But how is this? Are not you and he inseparable?" "He is a companion, uncle, but not a friend in the true sense--nor, indeed, in any sense of that word. I spoke now, however, with reference to a particular transaction, and not to his general character." "Well, then, I have no underhand dealings with him, as you are pleased to call them, nor ever had. I never to my knowledge received a line from him in my life; but I tell you that if he comes in my way, and that I can make use of him, I will. Perhaps he may serve us in the Elections. Have you anything else to ask?" "No sir," replied Harry, laughing. "Only I hope you will excuse me for the liberty I took." "Certainly, with all my heart, and you shall be always welcome to take the same liberty. Good-bye, again." Clinton now felt satisfied that Hycy's letter to his uncle was an anonymous one, and although he could not divine its contents, he still felt assured that it was in some way connected with the farm transaction, or at all events detrimental to Bryan M'Mahon. He consequently resolved to see Hycy, against whom, or rather against whose principles he was beginning to entertain a strong repugnance, and without any hesitation to repudiate the engagement he had entered into with him. He found Hycy at home, or rather he found him in conversation with Bat Hogan behind his father's garden. "What was that ruffian wanting with you, Hycy, if it's a fair question?" "Perfectly," said Hycy, "from you; but not in sooth from your worthy uncle." "How is that?" "Simply, he wants to know if I'd buy a keg of Poteen which, it seems, he has to sell. I declined because I have a sufficiently ample stock of it on hands." "My uncle," said Clinton, prefers it to any other spirits; indeed, at home he never drinks any other, and whenever he dines, thanks those who give it the preference." "Come in, and let us have a glass of poteen grog, in the mean time," said Hycy, "for it's better still in grog than in punch. It's a famous relish for a slice of ham; but, as the Scotch say, baith's best." Having discussed the grog and ham, the conversation went on. "Hycy," proceeded his companion, "with respect to that foolish arrangement or bargain we made the other night, I won't have anything to say or do in it. You shall impoverish or ruin no honest man on my account. I was half drunk or whole drunk, otherwise I wouldn't have listened to such a proposal." "What do you mean?" said Hycy, with a look of very natural surprise, and a pause of some time, "I don't understand you." "Don't you remember the foolish kind of stipulation we entered into with reference to M'Mahon's farm, of Ahadarra, on the one hand, and my most amiable (d--n me but I ought to be horsewhipped for it) sister on the other?" "No," replied Hycy, "devil a syllable. My word and honor, Harry." "Well, if you don't, then, it's all right. You didn't appear to be tipsy, though." "I never do, Harry. In that respect I'm the d--dest, hypocritical rascal in Europe. I'm a perfect phenomenon; for, in proportion as I get drunk in intellect, I get sober both in my carriage and appearance. However, in Heaven's name let me know the bargain if there was one?" "No, no," replied his friend, "it was a disgraceful affair on both sides, and the less that's said of it the better." By some good deal of persuasion, however, and an additional glass of grog, he prevailed on Clinton to repeat the substance of the stipulation; on hearing which, as if for the first time, he laughed very heartily. "This liquor," he proceeded, "is a strange compound, and puts queer notions into our head. Why if there's an honest decent fellow in Europe, whom I would feel anxious to serve beyond another, next to yourself, Harry, it is Bryan M'Mahon. But why I should have spoken so, I can't understand at all. In the first place, what means have of injuring the man? And what is stronger still, what inclination have I, or could have--and what is still better--should have?" "I do assure you it did not raise you in my opinion." "Faith, no wonder, Harry, and I am only surprised you didn't speak to me sooner about it. Still," he proceeded, smiling, 'there is one portion of it I should not wish to see cancelled--I mean your advocacy with Miss Clinton." "To be plain with you, Hycy, I wash my hands out of that affair too; I won't promise advocacy." "Well neutrality?" "The truth is, neither neutrality nor advocacy would avail a rush. I have reason to think that my sister's objections against you are insuperable." "On what do they rest?" asked the other. "They are founded upon your want of morals," replied Clinton. "Well, suppose I reform my morals?" "That is, substitute hypocrisy for profligacy; I fear, Hycy, the elements of reformation are rather slight within you." "Seriously, you do me injustice; and, besides, a man ought not to be judged of his morals before marriage, but after." "Faith, both before and after, in my opinion, Hycy. No well-educated, right-minded girl would marry a man of depraved morals, knowing him to be such." "But I really am not worse than others, nor so bad as many. Neither have I the reputation of being an immoral man. A little wild and over-impulsive from animal spirits I may be, but all that will pass off with the new state. No, no, d--n it, don't allow Miss Clinton to imbibe such prejudices. I do not say that I am a saint; but I shall settle down and bring her to church very regularly, and hear the sermon with most edifying attention. Another glass of grog?" "No, no." "But I hope and trust, my dear Harry, that you have not been making impressions against me." "Unquestionably not. I only say you have no chance whatever in that quarter." "Will you allow me to try?" asked Hycy. "I have not the slightest objection," replied the other, "because I know how it will result." "Very well,--thank you even for that same, my dear Harry; but, seriously speaking, I fear that neither you nor I are leading the kind of lives we ought, and so far I cannot quarrel with your sister's principles. On the contrary, they enable me to appreciate her if possible still more highly; for a clear and pure standard of morals in a wife is not only the best fortune but the best security for happiness besides. You might stop and dine?" "No, thank you, it is impossible. By the way, I have already spoiled my dinner with that splendid ham of yours. Give me a call when in town." Hycy, after Clinton's departure, began to review his own position. Of ultimately succeeding with Miss Clinton he entertained little doubt. So high and confident was his vanity, that he believed himself capable of performing mighty feats, and achieving great successes, with the fair sex,--all upon the strength of having destroyed the reputation of two innocent country girls. Somehow, notwithstanding his avowed attachment for Miss Clinton, he could not help now and then reverting to the rich beauty and magnificent form of Kathleen Cavanagh; nor was this contemplation of his lessened by considering that, with all his gentlemanly manners, and accomplishments, and wealth to boot, she preferred the clod-hopper, as he called Bryan M'Mahon, to himself. He felt considerably mortified at this reflection, and the more especially, as he had been frequently taunted with it and laughed at for it by the country girls, whenever he entered into any bantering conversation. A thought now struck him by which he could, as he imagined, execute a very signal revenge upon M'Mahon through Kathleen, and perhaps, ultimately upon Kathleen herself, if he should succeed with Miss Clinton; for he did not at all forgive Kathleen the two public instances of contempt with which she had treated him. There was still, however, another consideration. His father had threatened to bring home his brother Edward, then destined for the church, and altogether to change his intentions in that respect. Indeed, from the dry and caustic manner of the old man towards him of late, he began to entertain apprehensions upon the subject. Taking therefore all these circumstances into consideration, he resolved in any event to temporize a little, and allow the father to suppose that he might be prevailed upon to marry Kathleen Cavanagh. In the course of that evening, after dinner, while his father and he were together and his mother not present, he introduced the subject himself. "I think, Mr. Burke, if I remember correctly, you proposed something like a matrimonial union between the unrivalled Katsey Cavanagh and the accomplished Hycy." "I did, God forgive me." "I have been thinking over that subject since." "Have you, indeed," said his father; "an' am I to make Ned a priest or a farmer?" he asked, dryly. "The church, I think, Mr. Burke, is, or ought to be, his destination." "So, after all, you prefer to have my money and my property, along wid a good wife, to your brother Ned--Neddy I ought to call him, out of compliment to you--ha! ha! ha!" "Proceed, Mr. Burke, you are pleased to be facetious." "To your brother Ned--Neddy--having them, and maybe along wid them the same, wife too?" "No, not exactly; but out of respect to your wishes. "What's that?" said the old man, staring at him with a kind of comic gravity--"out of respect to my wishes!" "That's what I've said," replied the son. "Proceed." His father looked at' him again, and replied, "Proceed yourself---it was you introduced the subject. I'm now jack-indifferent about it." "All I have to say," continued Hycy, "is that I withdraw my ultimate refusal, Mr. Burke. I shall entertain the question, as they say; and it is not improbable but that I may dignify the fair Katsey with the honorable title of Mrs. Burke." "I wish you had spoken a little sooner, then," replied his father, "bekaise it so happens that Gerald Cavanagh an' I have the match between her and your brother Ned as good as made." "My brother Ned! Why, in the name of; all that's incredible, how could that be encompassed?" "Very aisily," said his father, "by the girl's waitin' for him. Ned is rather young! yet, I grant you; he's nineteen, however, and two years more, you know, will make him one-and-twenty--take him out o' chancery, as they say." "Very good, Mr. Burke, very good; in that case I have no more to say." "Well," pursued the father, in the same dry, half-comic, half-sarcastic voice, "but what do you intend to do with yourself?" "As to that," replied Hycy, who felt that the drift of the conversation was setting in against him, "I shall take due time to consider." "What height are you?" asked the father, rather abruptly. "I can't see, Mr. Burke, I really can't see what my height has to do with the question." "Bekaise," proceeded the other, "I have some notion of putting you into the army. You spoke of it wanst yourself, remimber; but then there's an objection even to that." "Pray, what is the objection, Mr. Burke?" "Why, it's most likely you'd have to fight--if you took to the milintary trade." "Why, upon my word, Mr. Burke, you shine in the sarcastic this evening." "But, at any rate, you must take your chance for that. You're a fine, active young fellow, and I suppose if they take to runnin' you won't be the last of them." "Good, Mr. Burke--proceed, though." "An accordingly I have strong notions of buying you a corplar's or a sargent's commission. A good deal of that, however, depends upon yourself; but, as you say, I'll think of it." Hycy, who could never bear ridicule, especially from the very man whom he attempted to ridicule most, bounced up, and after muttering something in the shape of an oath that was unintelligible, said, assuming all his polite irony:-- "Do so, Mr. Burke; in the mean time I have the pleasure of wishing you a very good evening, sir." "Oh, a good-evening, sir," replied the old fellow, "and when you come home from the wars a full non-commissioned officer, you'll be scowerin' up your halbert every Christmas an' Aisther, I hope; an' telling us long stories--of all you killed an' ate while you were away from us." Harry Clinton, now aware that the anonymous letter which his uncle had received that morning was the production of Hycy, resolved to watch the gauger's motions very closely. After a great deal of reflection upon Hycy's want of memory concerning their bargain, and upon a close comparison between his conduct and whole manner on the night in question, and his own account of the matter in the course of their last interview, he could not help feeling that his friend had stated a gross falsehood, and that the pretended want of recollection was an ingenious after-thought, adopted for the purpose of screening himself from the consequences of whatever injury he might inflict upon Bryan M'Mahon. "Harry," said his uncle, as nine o'clock approached, "I am going upon duty tonight." "In what direction, sir? may I ask." "Yes, you may, but I'm not bound to tell you. In this instance, however, there is no necessity for secrecy; it is now too late to give our gentleman the hard word, so I don't care much if I do tell you. I am bound for Ahadarra." "For Ahadarra--you say for Ahadarra, uncle?" "I do, nephew." "By heavens, he is the deepest and most consummate scoundrel alive," exclaimed Harry; "I now see it all. Uncle, I wish to God you would--would---I don't know what to say." "That's quite evident, nor what to think either. In the mean time the soldiers are waiting for me in Ballymacan, and so I must attend to my duty, Harry." "Is it upon the strength of the blotted letter you got this morning, sir, that you are now acting"?" "No, sir; but upon the strength of a sure spy dispatched this day to the premises. I am a little too shrewd now, Master Harry, to act solely upon anonymous information. I have been led too many devil's dances by it in my time, to be gulled in my old age on the strength of it." He immediately prepared himself for the excursion, mounted his horse, that was caparisoned in a military saddle, the holsters furnished with a case of pistols, which, with a double case that he had on his person and two daggers, constituted his weapons of offence and defence. Their path lay directly to the south for about two miles. Having traversed this distance they reached cross-roads, one of which branched towards the left and was soon lost in a rough brown upland, into which it branched by several little pathways that terminated in little villages or solitary farmer's houses. For about two miles more they were obliged to cross a dark reach of waste moor, where the soil was strong and well capable of cultivation. Having avoided the villages and more public thoroughfares, they pushed upward until they came into the black heath itself, where it was impossible that horses could travel in such darkness as then prevailed; for it was past ten o'clock, near the close of December. Clinton consequently left his horse in the care of two soldiers on a bit of green meadow by the side of Ahadarra Lough--a small tarn or mountain lake about two hundred yards in diameter. They then pushed up a long round swelling hill, on the other side of which was a considerable stretch of cultivated land with Bryan M'Mahon's new and improved houses at the head of it. This they kept to their right until they came in sight of the wild but beautiful and picturesque Glen of Althadhawan, which however was somewhat beyond the distance they had to go. At length, after breasting another hill which was lost in the base of Cullimore, they dropped down rapidly into a deep glen through which ran a little streamlet that took its rise not a quarter of a mile above them, and which supplied the apparatus for distillation with soft clear water. This they followed until near the head of the glen, where, in a position which might almost escape even a gauger's eye, they found the object of their search. Tumbled around them in all directions were a quantity of gigantic rocks thrown as it were at random during some Titanic war-fare or diversion--between two of which the still-house was built in such a way, that, were it not for the smoke in daylight, it would be impossible to discover it, or at all events, to suppose that it could be the receptacle of a human being. On entering, Clinton and his men were by no means surprised to find the place deserted, for this in fact was frequently the case on such occasions. On looking through the premises, which they did by the light of a large fire, they found precisely that which had been mentioned in Hycy's letter--to wit, the Still, the Head, and the Worm; but with the exception of an old broken rundlet or two, and a crazy vessel of wash that was not worth removing, there was nothing whatsoever besides. The Still was on the fire half filled with water, the Head was on the Still, and the Worm was attached to the Head precisely as if they were in the process of distillation. "Ay," said Clinton, on seeing how matters stood, "I think I understand this affair. It's a disappointment in one sense--but a sure enough card in another. The fine is certain, and Ahadarra is most undoubtedly in for it." _ |
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